


Mine

by wolf_shadoe



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crack and Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 18:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolf_shadoe/pseuds/wolf_shadoe
Summary: Crackfic. Buffy gets caught short, things are peed on. Ridiculousness ensues.Sorry not sorry.





	1. Mine

It all started the night she got delayed by a gang of brusash demons during a late patrol.

The nightly round had already been dragging on for time. First she'd waited, sipping a slushy in boredom as a very slow-to-rise vamp scratched around miserably six feet below. Then there'd been a trail of kicked over decorations and empty beer cans through Rosedale that had to be investigated. By the time she'd tracked the irresponsibly responsible group of drunk humans back to the centre of town she was feeling the winter chill creeping in, so she detoured past The Espresso Pump for a giant steaming cup of sweet black coffee to keep her hands warm on the way home.

Halfway there the brusash demons crossed her path; she sculled back the coffee before tossing the cup and leaping into the fray.

Ten minutes to take the lot out; another hour to drag the bodies deep enough into the forest that the stink of decomposition wouldn't force someone to think about noticing. There's only so much ignorance Sunnydale can maintain, and eight hundred pounds of rotting green flesh on the sidewalk might just be pushing it.

By the time she made it back through town the extra hours and drinks were making their presence felt on her bladder. Urgh.

She quickened her steps as she shortcut through Restfield - there is no way I'm peeing on Spike's doorstep. But by the midpoint she was shooting nervous looks left and right - please nothing jump me now; I can't do the need-to-pee dance while fighting. Finally reaching the gate she ducked behind the bushes on the roadside and oh, relief. Swiftly followed by, please, please don't let him come swaggering along right now. 

She repeated it like a mantra as she wriggled her foot back through her underwear, brushed her skirt back into place and bolted for home.

 

\-------

 

Almost missed it, he did, but for a couple of bottles of jack from a most excellent poker night blurring all sense so that he wandered right past the break in the hedge that was his normal path home. Looked blearily up and down the sidewalk, then shrugged to himself and stumbled onward for the main gate.

Where he hit it like a wall. Slayer. The fuck…? He stood there for some time, puzzling over what it all meant. Scratched his head, shook it a few times to clear it; still no bleeding idea… She can't be claiming *his* territory though, surely? Only one sensible course of action then.

He peed in a line straight across the gateway, mine. Then with childish glee all over the inside too.

And thus it began.

 

\-------

 

It's not until Giles asks that she thinks of the place again.

\- Have you investigated the damage to the Jackson crypt at the northwest corner of Restfield? I noticed it on my way past this morning.

She hasn't. She tries to recall exactly when she'd last patrolled through there… and ducks her head to hide the blush as she remembers. I peed on the gate three weeks ago! Aloud though,

\- I’ll check it out this afternoon.

She stands on the footpath and peers across to the Jackson crypt: a side wall of the small square structure has slumped inwards, the roof now a wonky slippery-slope towards the left. She'll have to bear it in mind next time she's fighting there; one good blow and the whole thing will probably drop. Still, the door's unbroken; the wall probably fell on its own, rather than anything sinister. She should have a closer look… but somehow she just doesn't feel like it. Fell on its own then.

 

\-------

 

Twenty-three days of unmolested bliss; no hot-tempered little missy kicking his door in to make demands, no running into her scent passing his door as he goes about his business of a night. Almost doesn't know what to do with himself. Strike that, doesn't know what to do with himself. Where's the fun in laxing about all free and such if he can't rub it in her stuck-up face?

Got an inkling what's keeping her clear; it's all but confirmed when booting in the side of a particularly noticeable crypt only brings her as far as the footpath. And of course, can't use the front entrance himself any more; but that's a fair tradeoff. Never crossed his mind that a vamp territory claim might affect slayers just as well, but hey, she's the one started it, so game on.

He marks Pine Grove and Shady Hill, ha! Take that, Slayer! Then, wait… the fuck do I want with them? So next are the butcher's, the all-night convenience store, Willy's (doubling as chance to reload the tank), the Espresso Pump (with an evil laugh), Clem’s apartment building, and then just for shits and giggles he stops outside The Magic Box and claims that bench she's so fond of perching her perky little behind on. Flips the bird at the closed store as he does it, that's right. Mine.

 

\-------

 

She walks up to Pine Grove that evening and just feels… unwelcome. Another few steps closer and the hairs on the back of her neck are prickling at attention, get away! She shakes herself and moves forward resolutely, stomping through the entrance to stand glaring around. There's nothing visibly amiss, no sign anything’s out of the ordinary except this horrible feeling of trespassing which builds which each breath until she finds herself backing back out and across the street. What on earth? She checks her watch - only early - and turns to head for the Magic Box and backup. Whatever's up it can't be good news.

 

She slams the backdoor on her way in, startling Anya and Giles from their account books at the table.

“Sorry,” she says, but it comes out surly and gruff with a pouting frown. “Giles, someone's done something. Doing something. Fix it.”

“I'm sorry?”

She fills him in on her experience at Pine Grove, and before long he's mirroring her pout with a frown of concern.

“And then,” she continues, “I ran into it several more times on the way here. Willy's, Shady Hill, the butcher's, the Espresso Pump.”

“The Espresso Pump?”

“Giles, how can I be expected to slay if I can't buy coffee? The convenience store's out of bounds too. And why would someone want to keep me out of the butcher's? More to the point, how?”

“I don’t-- We'd better go an have a closer look. Were other people being affected the same way?”

“Nope, plenty of happy customers eating their muffins and drinking their mochaccinos while I hurried past like a leper. It's not fair!”

“What did Willy's look like?” Anya cuts in, “I mean, were there other demons there?”

“Of course--” she pauses, thinking, “actually, it did look a lot quieter than normal. I mean, obviously I didn't go in, but there were no cars in his alleyway.” Hmm.

“It's simple,” says Anya, “someone's claiming territory.” 

“Huh?”

Anya rolls her eyes. “Vampires claim territory when they want to keep other vampires away. Like a ‘keep out’ sign that only they can feel. And you, obviously.”

“Why… Never mind. How do I get rid of it?”

“Well, you could try to claim it back? Mark over their claims and keep them out of your space instead.”

“How?”

“You pee on things. Oh! Like a dog. You've seen dogs do it haven't you?”

“Wait,” Giles interjects, “you mean to say that the slayer can prevent vampires from entering an area by, umm, marking it?”

“Yeaah, lets really not.” Buffy wrinkles up her face. “What else works?”

“You could find the vampire doing it and stake them, that should work?”

“That one,” says Buffy, “we’re doing that one. Giles?”

“I'll come with you,” he says, notebook in hand as he follows her towards the door.

“Ask at Willy's!” chirps Anya after them, “I'm sure there are many angry vampires who are being deprived of alcohol and social contact.”

 

\-------

 

There were indeed many angry vampires. He'd thought Willy's was quiet for a Friday, but the dots didn't connect until he stepped outside and heard a group of nine of them muttering across the street. ‘Slayer,’ caught his ear, and he skipped over to catch the gossip. Some fun to join in on? Nah, not a team game - whatever this thing is with Buffy it's between the two of them. Maybe some fun to spoil then, earn himself a bit of snitch cash while he's at? Not like she can easily spend it right now! He's chucking as he mentally lists all the other stores to swing by and bar her from when a hard voice jolts him back to the present, “...Spike?”

“What's that?”

“I said,” the vampire leers at him, “someone's gone and put a claim over Willy's, and we all know that's shared space. Boys and I were just discussing how to make that bitch pay when who should come wandering comfortably out but her Neutered. Pet. Vampire.”

“I don’t see what it's bleeding got to do with me!” he protests, “she's a right thorn in my side too ya know. I say we--”

“I say,” says the tallest of the bunch, looming in like the knuckleheaded bully he must have been in life, “that it's you that's put the claim down, so it's you we need to take down to remove it.”

Spike bolts for the sanctuary of ‘his’ bar.

 

\---------

 

Outside the front door of the Magic Box she halts, staring at the bench seat.

“Giles, they've taken my seat!” Her thinking face comes on. “This is really starting to feel personal. And… petty.”

“And who could we possibly know,” says Giles in his most ironic tone, “that’s a vampire, has a personal” - he pauses for a split second, flailing to sum up the exact relationship between his slayer and that irritatingly eccentric vampire - “thing with you, and is known for his extremely foolish petty schemes?”

“Spike.”

 

\---------

 

He bolts through Willy's, out the back door and over the fence before they can circle the building to catch up. Hates to flee from a good fight, but he's no idiot and as soon as the inside crew catch on there'll be demons spilling out to join in on him, and that just ain't fair. Strategic retreat then. Not like I haven't got enough safe zones, could be right fun after all. He takes them through (around) Pine Grove, then pulls a 180 on the far side to lead them back the way they came. Cuts across the convenience store roof, then skips the middle of town (with its high likelihood of gaining him a slayer for the entourage) to head home at a run. Piss-ant fledges that they are should hit the barrier at Restfield solidly, and take a good while to overpower it while he picks out the right weapon. He barks a laugh at the sky to taunt them onwards; there's just something exciting about leading this merry chase about town. Never did have the stomach for hunting as a human - too much affinity for the fox. And guess who's got the best bag of tricks now, you snobby wankers!

A few hundred feet off though things start to go south. First it's a single ixor demon perched meerkat-like on the arch over the western entrance, and he slows warily. Only small, but they're fast little buggers and rarely alone. Sure enough it lets out a screechy yark as it eyes him and several more pop up from bushes and headstones. Right. Round the next side then. He gives them a wide berth, moving slow, casting a glance behind to see how close his tail’s getting. Could try to taunt the ixors out, let both problems take care of each other? But no, he's got plenty of time still and not about to step aside without getting his own hands in it.

The ixors parallel him inside the cemetery perimeter though, heads popping up and down all over the place, directed by the odd yark from the one on the arch. As he rounds the corner it jumps down from its perch, yarking faster as it moves to cut the inside corner and block the southern side of the graveyard as the whole pack surges behind. Not coincidence then; someone's set the little buggers after him. Shit. Right, think. Hit the ixors hard on the way to the crypt, close the door on the rest and have a few minutes to prep before the vamps arrive. Go.

He skips over the low fence on this side of the cemetery, catches the first ixor to reach him by its furry tail and flings it at the rest with a neck-breaking flick of his wrist.

 

\-------

 

Quite how she's going to march into his crypt she's not sure, but by the time Giles pulls up at what must now be her gate she's angry enough to think that Spike's stupid wee-spell won't be enough to dissuade her. “Stay here,” she snaps, “this won't take long.”

Storming across Restfield’s lawn the place feels unwelcoming in a whole new way, slayer senses bouncing around screaming danger! She breaks into a jog and soon discovers the cause as she comes up on Spike's crypt: a few meters from his door are a whole bucket worth of vampires hurling insults and booted feet at something on the ground, surrounded by (dead ferrets?!). As she tries to make sense of the scene the shape on the ground catches one of the boots mid-swing and twists it sharply to the side, sending the vampire crashing onto one knee as a stake plunges into its chest. A blood-covered Spike rolls through the dust and springs to his feet just in time to duck again as a fist comes at him, accompanied by shouts of filthy turncoat! Slayer's bitch!

A whole new level of anger hits her then, and the nearest two vampires are exploding into dust before anyone notices her arrival.

“This is my fight,” she grits out as she slams a stake home in the third, “so get away from my bitch!”

“Oh thank god,” exclaims Spike, turning to face his back to hers.

The three remaining opponents obviously don't hear the warning in her tone; two of them make a fumbly grab at her while the third aims another fist towards Spike, and three more poofs of explodey-vamp sound out.

“We need to run,” Spike says over his shoulder, “a couple more went for backup when they met the ixors”

“Ixors?”

“Ferrets from hell.”

“Got it.”

She sweeps a quick gaze across the nearest clumps of shadow, then over Spike as she turns to take his advice. His hair's streaked with red where tiny teeth have gashed at him, and his hands are blood-smeared from a multitude of small punctures. He doesn't look quite steady either, and he’d definitely sounded far too relieved to see her.

“Can you? Run?” she asks.

“Yep. Long as we don't meet another pack. Jesus, those things can bite.”

She settles for a fast stride, eyes scanning everywhere as she goes.

Giles turns the engine on as he sees them coming, a deep frown settling onto his face at Spike's bloody appearance. With a disgruntled sigh he reaches into the glovebox to hand Spike back a towel as he gets in, then adjusts his glasses and pulls out from the curb.

 

\-------

 

“Mom's out of town,” she says, swinging her front door open and walking in ahead. “Go sit in the kitchen so you're not dripping on the carpet.” She flaps a hand in that general direction as she heads up the stairs, never looking back.

He steps inside tentatively and closes the door behind him with a soft click, then walks through to stand awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. This far into the wee hours the silence weighs heavy, the clock on the lounge mantle ticking out the seconds slowly like the opening beats to a forgotten song. He cocks his head to follow her footfalls upstairs, cupboards opening and closing, something rattling, then she's back bearing a couple of towels and the first aid kit. She stops in the kitchen doorway and everything feels strange, off-kilter somehow, and they both look quickly to their feet as she blushes slightly and he swallows.

“Umm,” she says, then takes a breath before continuing, “Thought we'd better clean those bites out. Although now I'm thinking you should shower first.” She smiles, trying for jovial, but the mood’s all wrong. “Here.” She shoves the towels at him then points back at the stairs, “Up there. Right.”

He nods, pressing his lips together, and heads for the bathroom.

 

\-------

 

She puts the kettle on and gets out two mugs, then thinks better of it and puts one back. When Spike reappears in the doorway she keeps her eyes on the surface of her cocoa, poking at the marshmallows with a finger.

“I’m not making you one,” she says, tone lightly observant. “You can stop at your Espresso Pump if you’re thirsty.”

“You bloody started it!” He waves an open palm off to one side - seriously what is that even supposed to say? - as he continues loudly, “Never woulda thought to try it on a slayer at all if you hadn’t of claimed my front entrance.”

“I was just having a wee! I wasn’t claiming anything, especially your crappy front entrance!” Her own voice is even louder now, imaginary lasers firing from her eyes.

“Oh.” He looks at her for a moment, surprise on his face. “I guess… ‘m sorry, then. Buffy.”

His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously, and with his (faintly pink) hair in a damp scraggly tangle and worried eyes peeping back up at her he suddenly looks more like an errant three year old than the bane of her existence. She sighs out a breath and quirks a small smile.

“Sorry. I get shitty when I don’t have coffee. I’ll call us even if you promise not to tell Giles. And I mean it, not ever. I’m not adding ‘wee on every sign post’ to my list of patrol duties, or describing the discovery for the Watcher’s Council.”

He watches her steadily for a moment, then nods. “Promise. And, thanks.”

“Yeah well, those assholes should have known this is my town. Show me those bites.”

When she steps out the back door the next evening there’s a cup waiting on the porch railing, rich frothy mochaccino steaming in the evening air. Scribbled on the side of the cardboard cup,

\- Sorry. It’ll wear off in a day or so. Might have already.

They arrive each night that week, unseen and with no further messages. Finally she writes on an empty one, Thanks and stands it on his doorstep as she passes.

 

\-------

 

He stares at the ceiling, turning the empty cup in his hands. Could take her another one. Maybe a muffin or some such? It shoulda worn off a week ago though.

Slayer’s bitch.

Shit.


	2. Tragedy Wizzed on Comedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... this fic was only meant to be a one shot. Then it continued into this second chapter, and took an odd turn.   
> But hang in there, silliness returns in chapter 3 ;)

Buffy takes a can out of the fridge, cocks her finger on the cap and then pauses, eyeing the clock. Almost patrol time. Better not. But then, fuck it. Not letting some stupid vampire give me a complex about staying hydrated. She cracks it open.

“What's the point of it all”, she asks her stomach, “you want liquid, so I give it to you, then you make me have to pee to get rid of it, then you want it again? Maybe it's something in the cans; cocaine in my coke. Maybe I should wait for my mochaccino to arrive.”

 

\-------

 

Does she really like mochaccinos best? Or she just being polite? Nah, Slayer's a lot of things, but polite ain't one of them. Same as always then, and chilli hot chocolate for himself. Same as always? The hell is he even doing here, queued at the coffee counter like her bloody boy friday instead of the big bad he is.

Ninth night running and the self-excuse is wearing thin.

Could be buttering her up… waiting till her guard’s dropped to slip a couple of downers into the foam and watch her pass out mid-patrol. No chiptervention there, and surely something’d be along to finish the job. Pictures her napping on the grass, that gorgeous throat pulsing in the moonlight, eyelids fluttering dreamily, unable to prevent him running a hand through her hair-- No. Something sickening about the image, twisting up wrongly in his gut; Angelus’ tactics, that is. Gotta be an honest fight when they finally have at it, respectful like.

Pictures himself lugging a sleepy slayer back to Revello and trying to explain himself to Joyce, bloody fool that he is.

 

\--------

 

“I've found the, uh, ‘ferrets from hell’.”

“Yeah?” Buffy follows Giles to the Magic Box’ research table, waving a hello to Anya on the way.

“Ixor Demons. Apparently they're popular ‘pocket armies’ amongst certain demon species; they breed them in great numbers to be sent out on suicidal search-and-destroy missions. Wild ones are relatively harmless, apt to avoid human contact, mostly hunt deer.”

“Pokemon from hell, then.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Any idea what they were doing here? Beyond, you know, hellmouthing.”

“Not as yet. Though I do think it rather likely that they were simply someone's retaliation to Spike's idiotic behavior. You said he'd killed them all?”

“Yes, but it didn't look like it was fun; more with the biting and bleeding. And the vampires chasing him weren't expecting them. I just hope they're not someone's idea of fun and games for the season.”

“I'll look into the demons who are known to train them, just in case there's any connection to our mystery woman. Meanwhile, just keep an eye open on patrol in case there's any more around.”

“And all these years I've been using two eyes.”

 

\--------

 

Harm comes swanning in and he groans internally. Then (fuck it) drops his head back against the chair and groans out loud too.

“I've come,” she announces, “for my unicorns.” She crosses her arms and starts tapping her foot impatiently, looking steadfastly away with her nose in the air.

“That all?” he asks, suspicious.

“Yes. And the pink blanket. And those silver candlesticks. And to tell you that I've met someone else, and we're moving to LA.”

“Those are my-- nevermind. Anything else take your fancy? I'll grab you a box to pack. No changing your mind, now.”

“I won't,” she huffs. “We're very happy together. Deljarniar knows how to treat a girl.”

“Good for you.”

He hands her the box of unicorns (and everything else she's eyed up), and can't keep from flashing a split-second grin. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I think it was horribly rude the way you trespassed me just for bringing a real man back here.”

(Haha! Forgot it'd block her too!)

“You said you wanted an open relationship.”

(Never said I *wanted* a relationship at all)

“I waited two whole weeks for you to come and apologise! Of course Deljarniar was waiting to stake you and restore my honor, but that shouldn't have stopped you!”

(Has it really been two weeks since I've seen her? Hadn't noticed.)

She huffs and stomps a foot, “Can't you at least pretend this was more than what it was? I've been very,” she sniffs and bats a hand at her eyes, “confused since I became a vampire, and you're no fun at all!”

(Been confused lot longer than that I'd wager, what with all the candy floss where your brain should be. Shit, now she's crying.)

“Harm,” he says aloud, “I'm glad for you. You’re a lovely girl and you deserve a decent bloke, and that ain't me. Have fun in LA; if you happen to bump into Angel give him a shag won't you?”

(‘bout time he had my seconds, and no chance of a moment’s happiness with her jabbering on)

“Aww! Thank you, Spikey!”

Dignity restored, she squishes him against the box in a rough hug then swans back out, calling over her shoulder, “he drives a Mustang.”

(Oh thank god.)

 

\-----------

 

“How does it work exactly?” Buffy asks. Lying on the flat concrete grave marker opposite, Spike lifts his head enough to cast her a questioning look. She swings her legs around to dangle off the side of her own concrete slab and takes another sip before elaborating, “The peeing thing. You said the more powerful a vamp is, the stronger the effect?”

“Yeah…”

“And it took two weeks before you could use that gate?” She frowns, “I don’t feel that repulsive.”

He chuckles. “You're not, pet. Just powerful. So your ‘NO ENTRY’ sign comes across loud and clear. Bloody hit me like a brick. You, ah… wishing me away in the moment too?”

“Just a little. Alright maybe more than a little.”

“See? Intent. Puts the power into it.”

“But how does that work when I'm not a vampire?”

“Gotta be linked somehow though, don't ya? You can sense us out there, in the dark, in a crowd… there's a connection. ”

“Can you feel me?” she realises too late and shakes her head hard as she rushes to cover, “can you sense slayer when I'm nearby?”

“Oh I can feel you whenever you like, luv.”

She rolls her eyes at his licentious smirk. Alright, asked for that one.

“But yeah,” he continues after a beat, “prickles the back of my neck every time you step into the graveyard. And up close,” he thumbs a cigarette from his pocket and points at her with it, “you fairly stink of it.”

“Hey! Pig.”

“You started it.”

“I'll pee on your doorstep one day if you're not careful! And you'll be trapped inside with--” she starts laughing, “--Harmony! You'll stake yourself before two weeks is up.”

“Harm’s gone. Cleared out a few weeks back.”

There's a flash in the dark as he sparks his lighter behind a cupped hand, lifting his head to bring the end of his smoke into range. For a second the golden flicker plays across his face, accentuating the shadow under his downcast lashes and the deep hollows behind his cheekbones.

Her upsurge of sympathy takes her by surprise. He’s on his own? Foot-in-mouth Buffy strikes again.

“Oh. Sorry.” Why am I apologising?

He waves it off before she can recant, glowing ember tracing the movement of his hand.

“I'm not. Been trying to palm her off on someone suitable for a while. Turns out even the ugliest demons have intelligence minimums before they'll mate up. Guess I should thank you actually; if she wasn't so put out about the peeing thing she'd never have given poor Deljarniar a chance, and he's not a bad bloke despite his empty head.”

Huh. Spike cares what sort of guy Harmony hooks up with? Her world's gone topsy-turvy this year. Or topsy-turvy-er.

“So how's life with Sergeant Stodgy?”

She stiffles a giggle. “Don't be mean. Riley and I,” shit, what are we? “are very happy.” That even sounded stodgy.

Spike's voice is flat, bored sounding, “Whatever you say, Slayer.”

“We are!”

“Pee’d on him yet?”

“Oh gross, Spike, you're such a pig.”

“What? That one is entirely a humankind kink, Slayer. No golden shower section in Pentcrypt or Playvamp.”

“There's--?” She shakes her head, “You just made those up.”

Spike shrugs, nonchalant. “Whatever you say, Slayer.”

 

\----------

 

Whitebread’s boots at the front door the next night, and he briefly considers pissing in them. But the hissing voices from the kitchen are much more intriguing, so he slips around back to lean against the fence post and watch her shadow crossing the window as she stomps about.

“I never said that! I just think you should take some time off. Let me and the boys handle it.”

“Riley, you don't get it. I can't just take time off. Besides--”

“Besides what?”

“Never mind.”

 

Besides what?

The front door slams and the boots clomp off the doorstep. There's a few seconds of breath-held silence; then she slips out, closing the backdoor with jerky movements that speak of the missing second -slam-. People are sleeping, you inconsiderate pillock.

She pauses with her back to the door and closes her eyes to take one deep breath in, then opens them to look straight across the expanse of lawn and into his.

He cocks an eyebrow and holds up her cup, and she lets out a long sigh as she crosses to take it.

“You heard, huh?”

“Yep.” He plays it cool, mature; none of that idiocy here, see? But his mouth jumps ahead before checking in with his brain, “What’re you letting him drag you down for? You're better than that. Bloody idiot won't be happy till he's turned you into the perfect little housewife, asking his lofty opinion before she chooses which teacups to buy herself,” - shit, now she looks right dangerous; just had to bloody open it didn't you? - “and wearing a bonnet on patrol like a proper lady. Him, that is; had a whole stash of right fetching ones in the uniform cupboard they did, floral and lacy and one with some kinda birds on the ribbons...”

Her face turns confused (safer), flickers through suppressed amusement (even better), and lands on a tired perplexity.

“Ready to go kill something?” he asks, and now she smiles.

“Am I ever.”

 

\----------

 

She watches from her bedroom window as the helicopter lights rise on the far side of town, the faint sound of its blades fading into the distance.

Spike had better not show up to gloat tonight. He'd looked positively eager when he’d cajoled her out on the mystery mission last night; still a soulless creep, easy as it's been to forget lately. Her fingers burn with the need to fling back the pain and shame of it all. Cancel that; get your ass here, Spike, so I can hit you for hitting me with it like that.

Smarter than he looks though; no coffee waiting and no sign of him anywhere on patrol. She comes home dust-coated and alone, the bitter inner tirade against all of mankind quietened to a steady grumble.

It's waiting on railing just like that first time, still hot. She turns the cup to search for a note, but there's only a few vague marks; as if someone had put a pencil to the cardboard several times without knowing what to write.

 

\----------

 

“Why did you do that to me?” she finally shouts, “I thought we were friends!”

He opens his mouth and for once there's nothing there; only the echo of that ‘I thought we were friends!’ bouncing around in his skull. Somewhere it crashes against a distant ‘I'll take her apart!’, rebounds to slam into ‘you'll never be friends!’ He snaps his mouth closed and swallows.

“Grr!” She growls her frustration at his lack of explanation, shoving him away as she turns to go, and the ‘were’ shaped hole in his chest suddenly becomes a physical pain too as one palm jabs into the half-healed wound of a plastic stake.

His hand grabs at it as he stumbles slightly, and she whirls back, eyes sweeping his chest as she hisses, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What's wrong with me? Ask that bleeding asshole what's wrong with him! Staking people left and right like he's got a lifetime of sexual repression to work out!” Oh so *now* his bleeding mouth’s in order. Bloody brilliant. Time to flee before he digs himself in any deeper (third hole’d be the charm, for sure).

He jabs a finger at the sky and steps back; but she's faster, grabbing the front of his shirt and tearing it wide open in one smooth motion.

She freezes then, wet red eyes fixed on the hole before crawling up to meet his.

“Ri did this?” she asks in a small disbelieving voice.

He jerks his ripped shirt back from her fingers and shrugs his coat up closer, scowling as he turns his face away.

“Six inches of plastic,” he sighs, “Bit more lasting on the pain scale than the military issue wood he was using on the girls once he was done with them.”

“God, Spike. I… I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Not yours either.” She sighs. “This all might have gone better if you'd just told me.”

“I'm sorry, Buffy, I didn't mean to… Should’a thought for a minute.”

“Before you got into a pissing contest?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Then asks quietly, “Are we?”

“In a pissing contest?”

“Friends.”

“Guess we are,” she frowns.

He smiles.

 

\----------

 

She looks at the poker with a shudder as she grabs her jacket off the coffee table and heads out the back door. A hell god in the living room doth not a relaxing time make.

Spike's waiting in his usual spot against the fence post, and she fills him in on everything she hadn't wanted to repeat in front of her mother the night before.

“You ever hear of anyone killing a god?” she finishes.

“Yep. Was this bird slaughtered a whole bunch of them when they threatened her family. They had all their fancy god-strength and all but she just sliced through the lot of them once she got mad enough, and she weren't even a slayer.”

“What did she slice them with? Because I think I need one. Or several.”

“Chakram, mostly. She had a sword too though.”

She tries to recall what that is. “Chakram? One of those razor frisbees? Like-- Xena. Spike, that's a TV show.” She glares at him, stupid teasing vampire.

“Yeah, well, inspirational tale, ain't it? Get yourself a chakram, Slayer, see if you can't give her a haircut with it.” He mimes throwing a frisbee, then switches to an impression of Glory throwing her arms up in panic. “ ‘My hair! My hair!’ Heh, maybe she's like Samson. ‘You have found my only weakness, Slayer!’ Though I think the shoes are more likely.”

She giggles, then laughs properly. “Alright, I'll put it on my Christmas list. Probably works just as well on annoying vampires.”

 

\----------

 

Dru floats into town on an evening fog and tows it through his crypt.

“...silly billy willy, chasing the girl for kisses while she sharpens her claws…catch her and she'll gut you, before she dances away.”

“She'll gut you if you don't clear out.”

“You'll not come to the party? There's red in golden teacups waiting just for you.”

“I mean it, Dru. Get gone before she knows you're here.”

“Should have chosen a match. You'll never get close to the sunshine, my darling dartling boy.”

(then why do I feel its warmth?)

She looks clear at him, through him, then shrugs and turns away. “I can wait. They never last long, poor dears.”

 

\----------

 

She feels Spike watching her as the sun gets close to the horizon, and as soon as the last golden sliver dips behind it he edges out of the treeline, coming up to stand beside her with a cluster of wildflowers in his hand. He gestures slightly, may I? and she nods, so he places them gently in amongst the showy bouquets.

She feels like she's supposed to say something, so she finds her tongue and whispers, “the yellow ones…” Doesn't know where she's going; gives up.

He looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and speaks in a quiet husky voice, “I know, Buffy.” And she sees that he does, somehow, so she nods.

 

As the darkness deepens he turns suddenly to watch a sleek black car pull into the lot.

“Angel's here,” he tells her.

“I think I asked him.”

He swallows, pressing his lips together, then nods and slinks back towards the shadowy trees.

 

“I'd better get back,” she says eventually, squeezing Angel's hand before letting it drop and turning from the grave. “I think… you'll have to do the same.”

“Can I walk you home?”

“That'd be nice.”

As they cross the street to Revello Angel freezes, frowning deeply as he draws himself up.

“Why,” he grinds out, “is Spike claiming your house?”

“What?” she says, confused.

“There's a territory claim here; you wouldn't feel it.”

She looks at the house in puzzlement as Spike peels himself off the front porch and comes down to them, hands in his pockets.

“You--” starts Angel.

“Not now,” - Spike cuts him off with a shake of his head - “Come In.” He takes a wide circle past them and slinks off down the street as she turns her head to follow.

Angel turns his whole self to shout at Spike's back, “Why--”

“Protection,” Spike calls without looking back.

Angel huffs out a growl, marching purposefully into the yard as she frowns from where Spike vanished to the front door and back. “You can go in now?” she asks.

“I've been invited. It's a disgusting vampire ritual; trust that asshole.” He sighs. “Sorry. Coffee?”

“No,” she says slowly, “I think I need to sleep.”

He nods, looking somewhat at a loss.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, and her eyes heat up for the millionth time today.

“Anytime,” he says, and they hug awkwardly before he turns and leaves.

She walks inside and the house feels too cold and empty, so she continues right through to the backyard and her favourite step. She can feel him out there somewhere, so she asks the bushes, “How long have you been peeing on my fence?”

He comes forward, stopping in front of her. “A while. Figured the less vamps around the better while there's all this…” he trails off. “Sorry, though, ‘bout just now.”

No you're not, she thinks, knowing how he feels about Angel. Except… he'd obviously done his best to smooth it past. “Thank you,” she says instead.

 

\----------

 

It almost slips out, sometimes - he'll look across at her on patrol, twirling her stake and chattering about something, trying to talk herself into believing she's coping fine with everything - and the words will form themselves on his tongue, I love you.

He thinks up scenarios, ways to breach it with her; maybe he could take her out to get the coffee, sit with her at one of those tables as they bring it over in a porcelain cup. “A date? If you like, pet.” And she'd smile, and blush a little, and squeak, “Okay.”

‘Cept… she wouldn't. Different country entirely between accepting friendship and admitting feelings stirring. She'll stamp down anything that might be building and then stake it for good measure, and he'll be left fuming at history and baggage as what they've got crumbles away.

So he tells it to her distant window as she tucks herself into bed.

“I'm in love with you.”

 

\----------

 

Spike looks at her strangely sometimes; a look of yearning tenderness that she can just catch with the corner of her eye before he twists it into insouciance or dry wit. He'll take a breath sometimes, as if he's going to speak, then let it out with a sigh. It's almost as if he wants to fess up to something, and she's sure she should be digging it out of him - please not another ridiculously petty evil scheme - but there's just no room with Glory breathing down her neck. Or maybe she just doesn't want to know. Whatever's on his mind, it can't be anything actually bad; somehow, against all logic, she knows she can trust him.

 

\----------

 

Almost told her, at the end. Doesn't quite know why he didn't, when he thought this might well be it for him. But somehow… this thing between them’d become something too precious on its own to risk losing it in a daftly extravagant reveal of his feelings. Better to be mourned as her friend than taint everything last minute.

“Oh and Buffy? I love you, by the way. Not just as a friend. I love you more than any man has ever loved before...but never mind about that, pass me an axe.”

Yeah. Would only have upset her, and she didn't need that. Did the right thing there.

 

Would have thought about it after, maybe.

 

Tells her every night now.

 

\----------

 

She sits on the end of her bed, staring at the photos on her pinboard. When they don't change again she looks around the room slowly, shapes and names of objects flickering past; … lamp… hair brush… chair… There's something on the windowsill… coffee.

She struggles to work the latch with her bandaged hands, then slides the window up enough to bring the cup inside. It feels warm and smells soft, so she brings it to her chest and hugs herself around it as she returns to her seat and staring at the walls.


	3. Chasing Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there a literary equivalent for verbal diarrhea? 'Cause I think it happened here. Hopefully this insanity has run its course. So without further ado, I give you chapter three...
> 
> In which:  
> Buffy might be a bitch, but will she be his?  
> Exposed female nipples are positively demonic.  
> Messages are designed, delivered and received.  
> Buffy gets a cookie!  
> And a car is peed on at last.

When Buffy came back he'd sworn the Bit to secrecy on everything he’d drunkenly spilled over the summer. Threatened all sorts of nasty repercussions if she breathed a word… to which she’d rolled her eyes, poked him in the forehead and stuck out her tongue. Buffy’s back, see? Everything's going to be happy again!  
It's not, though; no happiness in those hollow eyes. Don't, Bit. She needs a friend, not a reason to feel deceived. Dawn reluctantly conceded.

Things got dodgy when the music rolled into town; had a hell of a job avoiding her and ended up serenading from the tree outside her window as (thank god) the magic kept her deaf to his lyrics. I don't wanna just be friends / so let me be your lover / know that we'll be great baby / I'll treat you like no other Got caught up in the group sing-a-ling at the end of course, but only to parrot the lines.

Week since that she's been looking lighter; finally exposing her wound to its engineers has lifted the weight of hiding it. She smiles when he trips over a rock, and it's a genuine one at last. So he does it again with comic exaggeration to try and coax a giggle.

Sets him thinking though, on the general bad idea-ness of trying to hide things inside (and if that bit of interior monologue ain't a sign that he's spent enough bloody time with the bird then what is?).

 

\-------

 

Right. Gotta do it proper. No use trying to just pop it out at her; when the innuendo bounces off his tongue to litter every conversation she'd never take him seriously. And using the ‘L’ word would probably get him a pop to the nose in return.

Maybe… maybe he should write it down. Make sure he doesn't say the wrong thing. Too much. So clichéd though.

Maybe he could hint at it somehow, try and get a feel for how she might react? The sexual attraction’s there, of course. Even could he not track the flood of blood southwards whenever they get close then the soft little catch of breath would give her away. Indeed, since her return she's actually taken to surreptitiously sniffing him at times, as if grounding herself. But suspects it's more as if he's another soft toy pig than something she wants in the bed. When did he become so bloody tame? It's the chip, always the damn chip, muzzling him, puzzling him, none of this goddamn mess would ever have started if it weren't for That. Fucken. Chip.

Too late now though.

So. Anyway.

Write the letter. Get your thoughts in order.

Then burn it and tell her.

 

\-------

 

Writes three letters, in the end.

“Dear Buffy,  
For the past year I have been hopelessly, helplessly in love with you…”

“Pet. Let's shag, yeah? Stupid to be going off to a lonely bed every night. Mine’s open and plenty private. Lemme know. Friends with benefits, or maybe something more. Your call.”

“Fuck off, you assholes. I'm not bloody interested and never will be. I live in a crypt for fuck’s sake; what do I want with a carpet shampooer? I swear, you send your bloody salesgirl ‘round here again and she'll come back bloodless. And then I'll come for you.”

(Last one's for the door-to-door vacuum company that's been around twice this month. How'd they even find me when I haven't got a letterbox, or a legal name? Spawn of fucken satan. That is, they are when you can't use them as home delivery snacks any more).

He hides the letters under the TV and heads off to poker night.

 

\-------

 

“Eew, Buffy, you smell like wet dog.” Dawn wrinkles up her nose and backs away.

“Gee, thanks. Will, are you absolutely certain this is temporary?” Looking at herself in her mirror compact she's having second thoughts about the whole scheme. Even her voice is unrecognisable. The ears are kinda cool though; when one of them swivels as Willow begins speaking she lets out a little squeak of nervous excitement.

“Yep! We've been practicing on each other all week. It's just a glamour and a spatial adjustment - if you look in the real mirror you'll see yourself.”

Buffy pads(?!) across to the large mirror that's angled to reflect anyone entering to whomever’s behind the counter. Backed with a thick layer of genuine silver and set into a rune-carved frame, it hasn't let them down yet for showing anything customers might be trying to hide. Or, you know, refusing to show it, in Spike's case.

Her own face looks back at her anxiously, and she gives it a reassuring smile. Phew. They’d needed some way to disguise her in a black hat if she was to find out anything worth knowing, but Willow and Tara have gone far beyond what she was expecting.

Two ears, a long tail and a wee pointy black nose beyond.

She experimentally twitches her muscles, twisting to look over her shoulder as her tail comes up to tickle the back of her neck.

“Besides,” Willow continues, “you're not a dog. You're a fox. Ooh! No, a vixen. Vixen Buffy. You've got until sunrise. And try not to freak out the mortals; maybe if you stick to four legs on the way?”

She opens her mouth to object… but her front paws catch her attention first and she suddenly thinks, why not? I did say I was sick of being Buffy. So she drops her fingers to the floor; and although somewhat disconcerting, the position’s not as awkward as she expects - that'll be the spatial adjustment, I guess.

“Good work guys. I guess I'll be off then.” She pauses at the door, clears her throat and looks back at them. “Yip!” she barks, then skips out with a wobbly swish of her tail.

 

\-------

 

She pokes her nose in at the butcher's first, loitering over the midnight specials board as several customers come and go. From behind the till Jerry eyes her with suspicion, but knows his job well enough not to ask questions of an obviously non-human stranger. Or an oversized fox wearing a handbag.

When a badly disguised pudewon demon asks for his reserved goat's feet she steps up beside him at the counter, looking straight ahead and trying to work out how to start asking. Shit, should have thought this through.

When Jerry steps out back to retrieve the feet, she looks over and says, “Excuse me, uh, Mr Pudewon?”

He turns with a frown, and curls his lip in distaste as he takes her in. “What do you want?”

She feels the hairs on the back of her neck prickle at the threat in his tone, and wonders if her hackles are visibly standing. “I'm looking for a group of demon summoners in town; I wondered if you could tell me where I might find them? They, uh, drive a grey van.”

He snorts, turning back to the counter. “Those muppets. You got a gripe with them?”

“It’s a… personal issue. Of a sensitive nature.”

“Right.” He sounds supremely unimpressed. “Humans, the three of them. Live in a basement over on Mission Road, about halfway down.” Jerry passes him a newspaper-wrapped parcel and he takes it with a nod, then turns back to her. “Now get outta my way.”

She steps back hastily and he stomps from the store with a rolling grumble-growl before she can think to thank him. That was… surprisingly easy.

“Excuse me, Miss?” says Jerry, calling her attention back to the counter. “Could I help you?” He leans over to whisper conspiratorially, “We have some lovely nezumi available out back.”

That’d better not be another illegal body part, Jerry. “Yes. I'll have two please.” she says, hoping they're small enough to fit in the messenger bag slung across her body. And cheap. Although, if he is up to something again then she can come back in the morning and liberate her money from the till as she sends him packing.

But the nezumi are small and cheap, so she tucks her little newspaper parcel into her bag for later inspection, and tries not to shudder at the possibilities.

Now what? Maybe she should check in at Willy's, see what other tidbits of gossip her swively ears can catch that would never be voiced around the slayer.

 

\-------

 

When she spots Spike sharing a booth with Clem she can't resist, and sidles over as he looks up and scans the room.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks, and holds her breath as Spike narrows his eyes and sniffs. Dog-stink must still be working though, because he looks right through her and around the bar again before bringing his eyes back to her with a coldness in them she can't ever remember seeing directed at her.

Clem though waves excitedly at the empty bench across the table, with an eager, “Yes! Of course! Please sit down.”

“Kitsune,” says Spike, sitting back and still looking suspicious, “don’t see many of your type around here.”

“I'm, uh, here on business,” she says.

Clem extends a hand. “Clem. Clement. Welcome to town. Don't mind my friend here, he's in a bit of a mood tonight,” he brings his other hand up to stage whisper behind as he shakes her paw, “Woman problems.”

Spike lifts his lip in a sneer at Clem and leans back further in his seat, picking up his beer.

Clem continues, “It's lovely to meet you, but I've got to greet and run sorry. Kittens to get home,” he pats the basket by his knee.

“You too!” She yelps a little as she says it, and her tail flicks nervously. What am I doing?

Clem picks up his basket and gives her another encouraging smile, shakes his head at Spike, and leaves.

Spike eyes her silently for a tense half minute, as she resists the urge to try and tuck her hair behind her ear. Then he points his beer at her and says, “You're a bird.”

She snorts out a yip-laugh at this genius result of his assessment, and he waves a hand.

“No, I mean, woman’ve got things in common, don't they, regardless of species.”

“I guess…”

“See,” he leans forward, suddenly friendly, “I've got this problem. With a bird.”

 

\-------

 

“I want to tell her how I feel about her, but…” He chuckles and shakes his head, “God I'm a jerk. I'm pretty good at stuffing things up, see? And it's too important. We're friends, and I don't want to lose that”

Oh god. Is he…? Would that be…? Crap, I need to say something. “Maybe… maybe you could write it down?”

“Just what I was thinking. So I did. But I should tell it to her in person, right? Man up and all?”

“How do you feel about her?”

“I'm in love with her.”

Oh. Oh…

“But she's kinda… unattainable. Unavailable. Can't even ken how I've ended up in this mess; never was one to keep things quiet, play the long game. But there was lots going on, see, I was just helping the slayer out on account of having nothing else to do for fun, then shit all went sideways. Next thing I knew Harris was secretly planning his happy wedding while I bawled my eyes out because I'd never told her and now it was too late. But I'm gonna do it. Only don't know how to make it go down best; don't want to upend the group dynamic.. Buffy's a right bitch at times and I don't fancy her right hook, that's for sure.”

Spike's in love with… Anya?!

“I-- I have to go,” she stammers, and leaps from her seat to flee the building.

 

\-------

 

Bloody moody women. He shrugs, swills back the end of his beer and stands to leave. Maybe… shouldn't have asked a fox. She had suggested a letter though; must be on the right path there. Ok.

 

\-------

 

That was stupid, Buffy; jumping to conclusions. He didn't even say her name; probably mentioned Xander’s wedding as an aside in the ramble. But… surely he can't be in love with *me*?

Not sure how to feel about that - she's needed him since she came back; he's been her crutch as she struggles to crawl back to her knees. If they were to dive into something more than friendship it'd be bound to end with him finally fleeing Sunnydale, just like every other man she'd asked to stay. Better keep lightly pushing him away; better to carry on as they are than risk losing her best friend.

But then… every night when he steps back to wave goodbye at her door a ball of warmth goes with him, leaving her cold and aching as she tucks herself into her lonely bed. Could we really work it out? Should have kept probing, instead of high tailing like an idiot. She swishes her tail up over her back and picks up the pace for home.

 

\-------

 

She stirs when Dawn's alarm goes off, stretches slowly, then jerks to wide awakeness when she realises she's still got a long pointy muzzle between her eyes. A dash to the mirror confirms it: vixen Buffy is here to stay. She groans.

“Willow!” she shouts at the wall, “I've got paws.”

 

\-------

 

“You're just so cute!” Dawn says again over her cereal. “I always wanted a puppy. Can they do me sometime?”

“No. And don’t tell Xander, got it? We're keeping this between Willow, Tara and us two. Definitely not a word to Spike. In fact could you stop by on your way home and tell him I'm busy tonight? Some thing with Giles that's come up?”

“But he'd think it was--”

“NO!” She sighs and tries to rub her eyes with the back of her hands. Paws. “Sorry, Dawnie. I can't see him tonight. I need to do some thinking. And he can not know I was ever a fox, ok?”

“Okay…” Something must have happened. Stupid vampire, why won't he just tell her? She'd be so happy. If she'd let herself. She looks so tired; I guess being a fox isn't as much fun as it looks. “What'd Willow say? Do I need to buy you a collar and leash so we can go to the supermarket tomorrow?”

“No, one more night and I should be back to normal. She just forgot to account for both of them working the spell together doubling the effectiveness of it. At least, we're not panicking until tomorrow.”

There's a rap at the door and she ducks behind the counter with a yip. Dawn picks up her backpack, shouting, “Coming! I'll see you in the car!” to Xander, then comes around to Buffy and pats her on the head. “Bye, foxy.”

“Hey! That's awfully patronising.”

“Well what do you expect with those cute ittle ears.” Dawn pulls her hand back though, looking chastised. Physical affection between them has felt so awkward and forced since her return.

“Go on then,” Buffy sighs, and Dawn bends down to wrap her arms around her neck and shoulders.

“Ooh, you're so soft!” Dawn squeezes her for a minute, running her fingers through the long ruff of fur around her throat.

Buffy lets her muzzle come down to rest on Dawn's shoulder, and sweeps her tail in a gentle wag. This is.. kind of nice. “Have a good day at school,” she murmurs.

 

\-------

 

Spike. Spike. Spike. She can't set it aside for a moment; too many confusing thoughts and feelings. She'll have to get them in order somehow before she sees him tomorrow. Let's rule out that stupid Anya fear then. She tells herself to think doggy thoughts and heads for the Magic Box on four feet.

 

“Spike's never… acted like he wants to spend time with you alone, has he? Or… kiss you?”

“What?” says Anya, “I'm with Xander, everyone should know that. We don't kiss other people!”

“But he's never looked like he wants to?”

“Of course not! He's in--” she frowns. “Why?”

“It’s stupid, forget it. Just something I heard wrong. I'd better go before the health department catches you with a dog in the store.”

“Yes! Get out of here, shoo! You're dropping fur everywhere!”

“Hey!” she protests, as Anya picks up the broom. “I'm going.” She slips out the back and heads home.

 

\-------

 

Today's the day, mate. Get some flowers, (coffee), arrive early, sit her down, recite it to her.

Only lunchtime, but can't sit here twiddling his thumbs till dark. Flowers, then.

He grabs a handful of cash and takes the tunnels to the magic box.

 

“Anya. That flower place. They deliver?”

“Yes…”

“Good. Give’s the phone.”

He calls from the back room, then joins Anya behind the counter. “Rupert around?”

“No. He said he had some things to take care of.”

“Good, good…” He fiddles with a display of glass marbles until she glares at him to stop mucking with the merchandise; then pulls out his lighter to snap open and shut until she glares at him for that distraction technique too. Christ, if I can't even pull off a practice run how am I ever going to talk to Buffy? “Listen, Anya. Could you tell me what you think of this?” He pulls the letter from his pocket and takes a few unnecessary breaths before addressing her to read, “ ...‘For the past year I have been hopelessly, helplessly in love with you…’ ”

As he finishes, Anya stares at him in a sort of dumbfounded horror.

“It's not that awful is it? I know I'm no wordsmith, but surely the emotion’s the thing?”

The bell over the door chimes, and Anya breaks from staring at him to turn to the woman entering with a large bouquet.

“Anya Jenkins?” she asks.

There's a resounding slap as demon girl's hand hits his cheek.

 

\-------

 

Spike's in love with me. No use denying now. I'd better come clean. She sniffs her shoulder, (eurgh, doggy), but doesn't know if attempting to change her magically disguised clothing’s a good idea. She settles for dry shampooing her ears, a spray of perfume on her tail, and with a final glance in the mirror she steps into the dusk towards Restfield.

 

\-------

 

There's another bloody calling card from vacuum girl slipped under his door, so before he leaves he grabs his warning letter from under the TV and duct tapes it to the middle of his front door along with her brochure. Wants to add a ‘FUCK OFF!’ underneath, but can't find a vivid. Besides, more important tasks tonight. Fuck knows what’d put Anya in such a foul mood, but it's given the day that feeling of sneakily-snowballing-doom he knows all too well. Time to stop dithering. Take the flowers, forget the coffee stop and go see his slayer.

 

\-------

 

Spike's door is hanging wide open. She approaches cautiously, sending her senses out but unable to detect any sign of him nearby. With growing apprehension she steps inside and casts around for clues.

The slab of concrete over the ladder to Spike's bedroom has been left to one side, so she straightens her tail and makes the leap down to land delicately on all fours in the middle of the room.

“Kitsune,” breathes a voice from the direction of the bed, and something tugs between her thighs in response. “What a most pleasant surprise!”

 

\-------

 

No slayer at home; Dawn gives him some line about some thing with the watcher. Sounds suss. He lets her relieve him of the flowers - I’ll put them in a glass of water, you can't drag them all over town and back - and agrees with her when she suggests he spend the night at the pub.

 

 

“Buffy here?”

Giles eyes him with a frown from the doorway. “No… was she supposed to be?”

“Bit said she had something on with you tonight. Had a feeling she was covering.”

Giles shrugs. “Maybe she'll be along soon. But since you're here, would you mind giving me your opinion on a matter?”

Spike pulls the two letters from his pocket again as Giles putters around in the kitchen, m-hmm’ing in agreement whenever the conversation seems to require it. He rereads the first one - Anya's reaction must condemn it. Far too soppily melodramatic; surprised it's not in purple ink. Second one then. Much more his style, and easy for her to laugh off if she’s not ready to hear it. He unfolds it refresh his memory, “Fuck off, you assholes…”

Wellp. Shit. That means he's… Knew something was going to go wrong tonight, bloody well knew it.

“Spike?” says Giles

He shakes his head as he stands, “Change of plans. Can't stay.”

“Did you just agree that you've seen the succubus?”

“What succubus?”

“The one that I've just been--” Giles looks heavenward for a moment, then starts again, “There's a succubus in town, posing as a door-to-door marketer, reports here of two men and one woman, torn apart in the throws of sexual passion, and--” Spike's groan of frustration cuts him off.

“Gimme your keys,” Spike sticks his hand out.

“What? I'm not going to--”

“Keys, Scone Boy. I've just bloody invited the damn thing into my bed, and knowing my luck someone’ll find it there.”

With a lift of his eyebrows Giles concedes the likelihood of that proposition. He hands over his keyring with a grimace, “Please bring it back in one piece.”

 

\-------

 

“Who the hell are you?” Buffy demands of the stunningly beautiful woman uncoiling herself from Spike's bed. Her hackles are definitely up this time; who the fuck does this bimbo think she is? Rolling around sans underwear in my friend's bed. With her perfect shining hair and her round full breasts and nipples just begging me to--

With an audible snap of her jaws Buffy jerks herself back from the nipple she’d been about taste and scuttles back towards the ladder.

The woman laughs, a warm throaty thing that oozes into Buffy like chocolate liqueur. “Don't be scared, now; it's a perfectly healthy reaction. We are going to have fun.”

“What… what are you?” Buffy asks, in a - traitorously - soft voice.

“I'm delicious,” the woman promises, “absolutely delicious.” She trails her fingertips from one thigh up and across her ribs to cup one of those perfect soft breasts in hand and softly squeeze it, and Buffy’s own breasts tingle with a desperate need to be held and caressed. The woman purrs as she steps closer, “Come here, pet.”

Buffy kicks her in the face.

It's not her best effort, admittedly; the muddle of paws and feet comes off with a stumble, but it's enough to whip the demon woman's head back and bring those seductive hands flashing up to cup around her mouth and nose as the blood starts trickling down her chin.

“What the hell have you done to Spike?” she growls, shoving her front feet against the woman's chest to pin her to the ground. Oh god, she's the succubus Giles was on about. What if she's eaten him?!

“Nothing. Why, do you think I should?”

She brings an inhumanely long tongue out and sweeps it slowly across her split upper lip. The gesture’s probably meant to be alluring, but between the pointed teeth it reveals and the pang of a reminder of Spike's nosebleed-licking habits it only raises her ire.

“That’s disgusting. You're disgusting. And you can't have him.”

“You bitch!” the succubus hisses, and brings a knee up into Buffy's stomach, booting her off and scrabbling back upright. She bares her pointed teeth at Buffy, fingers held like claws, then dives for her with inhuman speed.

Somewhere early in the fight Buffy gives up trying to punch with her paws, and sinks her teeth into the succubi’s arm as it rakes at her fur with those claws. Her jaws come down surprisingly hard, crunching bone as the woman shrieks in pain, so when she dives forward with those pointed teeth again Buffy meets them with her own.

 

\-------

 

His bedroom looks like a bomb’s gone off. Blood, fur, and goopy bits of flesh cover every surface; every surface has been overturned, swept clear, or crashed down upon. Place must've hosted a cage fight for a herd of cats… or a succubus and a...(fox?) He sniffs a tuft of fur. Kitsune, aye. What were you doing here? Following the drag line into the tunnel entrance he finds the bloodied remains of the succubus, but only the prints of the fox.

Maybe it's not my day.

It's never your bloody day though, is it? Forget this. Find Buffy. Tell her.

 

\-------

 

Giles opens his front door in response to her scratching, quirking an eyebrow as she walks in underneath his arm with her tail held out behind. “What is... Are you alright? Not on the couch, please.”

“I'm fine. I won. Have you seen Spike? Or heard from him?”

“I don’t know why you'd expect me to have seen him,” he frowns. “But yes, actually, he's just left. Took my car.”

“See? You guys are both all British and stuff; you probably have secret catch-ups all the time. Did you have tea together?”

“We most certainly did not.” Giles pulls his reluctantly-conceding face as he looks away. “He left before I'd poured it.”

“Ha! I knew it. Pour me a… a bowl, I guess.”

“I'll bring it to the table,” he says pointedly.

Buffy looks down her chest to realise that her formerly soft golden coat is now a tangled mess of sticky red clumps, tufts of torn fur and a general pink toning where the dew has mingled with blood. She hops up on a chair and plonks her front paws on the table to bury her face between them with a groan. “Please tell me my hair's not going to look like this tomorrow.”

In the kitchen doorway Giles snorts, then lets out a short laugh. “Sorry, sorry,” he says as he sets down a cereal bowl full of tea, “I shouldn't laugh, but you just looked like one of those Coolidge paintings with the dogs playing poker.”

She pulls her lip up to sneer a mocking laugh back, yeah yeah, laugh at poor Buffy, but Giles looks genuinely alarmed at the expression.

“God lord,” he mutters, extending a hand halfway towards her mouth, “Buffy have you bitten someone?” She drops the sneer.

“Not an innocent bystander! She was in Spike's bed!” She pouts, but Giles looks possibly more alarmed by this explanation. Flicking her ears, she tries again. “That succubus you warned me about? She was in there, all naked and seductivey. And my fists didn't work properly; it was just easier to bite.” She laps at her tea to save having to explain further. And maybe to wash down the oddly sweet taste of succubus blood.

“Tomorrow morning, Willow said? I think, Buffy, that we'd better take a closer look at this spell just in case. You're looking awfully comfortable like this.”

“Nevermind that. What was she doing there?”

“Yes, Spike did mention he'd invited her into bed.” Off her look he rushes to add, “I don’t believe he had any idea she was a succubus; that's why I let him talk me into handing over the car to go and deal with it. So, well done, I'll fetch the biscuit tin.”

He returns with the promised goodies, and a folded piece of paper which he hands her. “He also left me this most peculiar letter. I can only fathom it must be in response to a conversation we had last week regarding the possibility of him providing some history for the Council’s records. Is ‘carpet shampooer’ the latest slang for tweed wearers?”

‘...Fuck off, you assholes. I'm not bloody interested and never will be. I live in a crypt for fuck’s sake; what do I want with a carpet shampooer? I swear, you send your bloody salesgirl ‘round here again and she'll come back bloodless. And then I'll come for you…’

She reads it again. Am I the Council salesgirl now? ‘Carpet shampooer’? He wouldn't...this makes no sense. “This makes no sense. I'm going to go back over there and get to the bottom of it.”

“I think you'd better. And make him bring my car back while you’re at it. But first, have a cookie?” He holds one out towards her, and she rolls her eyes as she extends her muzzle to pluck it from his fingers carefully.

Tossing it further back into her mouth she crunches down on the whole thing and talks through an awkward mouthful of crumbs. “I'm not a petting zoo.”

“I think I'll give Willow a call. Just in case.”

 

\-------

 

Spike's not home, though she can smell that he's been there. Smell?! Giles was right, this is getting far too comfortable. She huffs out a frustrated breath. Where are you, Spike. Willy's? She trots for Main Street.

 

It being Full Moon Friday the magic box is open until 4am, so on her way to the demon bar she checks through the store window for customers then darts in. Anya startles as she joins her behind the counter, then frowns down at her grubby paws.

Buffy forestalls the coming complaint. “Anya. Have you seen Spike?”

Anya's frown turns angry. “Yes I have! You were right, Buffy. He came here this afternoon and declared his love for me. When he knows I love Xander. Of course I am very attractive but I didn't realise he felt that way about me.”

What? “Are you… sure that's what he was doing?”

“Of course! He read me a love letter and sent me flowers! In fact if it wasn't for Xander I'd have been rather impressed, it was all very romantic. I've told Xander he has to buy me flowers now since I didn't get to keep Spike's ones.”

“What… what did you do?”

“I slapped him. I've always found that signal effective on men of any species. Then I told him to get out before Xander could arrive and have to defend my honor, because Spike is much too strong for him to fight.”

Buffy just stares.

 

\-------

 

No slayer in any of the central cemeteries. He cruises the red penismobile as far as the university, glancing down side streets hopefully but fruitlessly. No sign of his mysterious foxy visitor either. Willy's, maybe? Worth a quick check, she'd been there the night before after all.

 

\-------

 

As she trots down main street towards Willy's her stomach churns. Spike and Anya?! Nope, still doesn't feel right. Or maybe you don't want to face it? Alright, maybe. And where does suck-your-bus girl fit in? He might not have known what she was, but he’d still invited her into his bed. He's never asked me there.

Spike's the expert at digging himself into a mess of course, but there's no possible explanation for all of this that matches what she's suddenly realising she’d wanted to hear last night. It'd take a ridiculously implausible farce. One of those unintelligible British skits he likes. And those don't happen in real life. Only musicals do.

 

\-------

 

He parks the penismobile behind Willy's and ducks in through the back room. No slayer, so sayeth the spidey senses. Place is packed though; abnormally so, even for a full moon. Gotta be thirty vamps in the place, and out of towners by the looks of them. With an angry snarl he grabs Willy by the side of his shirt and hauls him over to his own end of the bar, and away from the cluster of vamps shouting orders at him with increasing levels of threat.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he growls, still holding the side of Willy's shirt to stop the assholes dragging him back.

“Bounty team. Been promised some kind of card thingamies in return for the slayer. She with you? ‘Cause I'd be really happy to see her right now. Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, buddy, just she's a bit kinder on the furniture in this sort’a rumble.”

“Right. The fox here? Kitsune, was in last night.”

“The one you sent skedaddling like a woman scorned? Not seen her tonight.”

“Right.” He shoves Willy back upright and tweaks his shirt roughly, “Chuck ’s a drink and I'll start in then.”

As the angry mob doubles their volume and Willy starts frantically pouring beers Spike stretches across the bar to help himself to a forty from under the counter, then jumps up to sit on the edge of the bartop and survey the room. He takes a swig while waiting for enough attention to start aiming his way, then lifts his chin at the room to ask, “What's the story with this slayer hunt?”

 

\-------

 

Spike. Finally.

He sits on the edge of the bar, swinging his feet and making his ‘are-you-tossers-mad?’ face at the crowd around him. He must sense her arrival though, because he looks up suddenly - at her, past her, around the room and then back to her briefly, before turning to the vampires before him again.

“Are you tossers mad?” he asks them. “Slayer’ll have your guts for garters, mark my words.”

The vampire directly in front lets out a slow laugh. “Not ours. We know what we’re doing. Boys? Time to move.”

There's a drumroll of glasses hitting tables as twenty-nine vampires down drinks and flood from the room so fast that she dodges sideways to let them pass. Shit. Mr boss-man tips an invisible hat to Spike and swaggers out behind them.

The door swings shut as Spike stares at it quizzically, then he turns his eyes to her and says, “Huh.” He sets his bottle on the bar and hops down, flicks his coat into place and heads for the door after them. When he gets to her standing beside it he pauses, cocking an eyebrow at her to say, “Don't go anywhere. Got me a slayer to hunt down, but I'll be back.”

‘Spike wait--’ she says, except it comes out sounding more like, “yip yit!” Double shit.

He slows in the doorway, lifting his eyebrow higher as he looks back. “‘Yip’, Pet?” He shakes his head.

Yeah yeah, you don't speak Chinese. She makes a frustrated little growly sound and follows him out.

 

\-------

 

The vixen trots along behind him as he trails the bounty team to the end of main street, waiting for them to split down enough for a fairer fight.

There's a burst of orders ahead; a couple of names and then, ‘start sweeping. Once you’ve got a fix on her meet us at the prize.’

Ten of the vamps peel off to the left while the rest start boarding a generic-looking interstate bus parked on a side road. He has to admire their level of organisation; not that it'll be enough to help them tonight.

His tail vanishes as the quarry approaches Shady Hill, and he slows up a little to put a comfortable distance between himself and his foe. The ten vamps enter the cemetery in a well-defended compact bunch… but within the first row of graves they come to a sudden halt, then spread out in a search line along an invisible barrier. Oh, you sneaky thing! He palms a stake from his pocket and moves in.

The fox makes her move at the same time he does, appearing stage right and skimming lightly over the grass to come in obliquely and leap for the outermost vamp. Jaws meet throat in a swift tearing slice, then she leaps clear and onto the next target as the first goes down clutching his wound.

He hits his own first choice straight with an uppercut followed by a stake - no time for the fancy stuff tonight - and there's the satisfying poof of a dusting before the rest of the group reacts.

He tallies them up in his head..two clean points to him, two incapacitated on the ground by her. Things get tougher after that though; his should-have-been-third-point jumps and lands a solid boot in the ribs that sends him flying, and one of her downed vamps recovers enough to snag her tail and jerk her next lunge to a stop. They're playing this backwards, he realises - after that first staking he's fallen into his everynight routine of hitting hard and leaving the dusting for Buffy, while she's going for decapitations she can't pull off with the size of her jaws.

“Pet!” he shouts, “Ankles. I'm on stake.”

She hits the next one in the calf, springing back instantly and turning to hamstring a second. He follows in her wake dispatching the wounded, and as the last cloud of dust hits the air she lets out a happy little ‘Yip!’

 

\-------

 

‘Don't chase my tail!’ she quips at the last vampire (not my best work, but no one’s going to know..) Sure enough, it comes out an upbeat ‘Yip!’ instead.

“Come on,” says Spike, turning back towards the street, “we've got a bus to catch up with. Thirty points going.”

 

 

“Gimme a bark if you spot anything your side.” Spike glances over and she nods firmly, eyes travelling between the front and passenger windows. He pulls out of Willy's back lot and heads in the direction the bus went, slowing at each intersection for them to scan the side roads.

“You know,” he says after a minute, “I've still got this problem. ‘Write it down’ you said, and if that wasn't the worst bloody plan I've had this year…”

He shakes his head. “Anyway. There's this girl. Fiery little thing; could kick my ass six ways from Sunday without breaking a sweat. God, the fun we could have in bed… That's what I hoped it was, at first; lust left behind when the blood was chipped away. But she's so much more than that. She's kind, and caring, whether you deserve it or not. She'll take a bleedin mass murderer in if he doesn't have a place to go for thanksgiving, and make him gravy. She's loyal, and forgiving; she'll help you out of the hundredth fix you've got yourself into, and never hold it against you. She's good, sort of goodness that kinda makes you want to be good too so that some of her light’ll shine your way. She's self…” Spike trails off, takes a deep breath and continues more shakily, “Self-sacrificing. Both at the big moments when everyone's watching, and in the little ones when no one is… she’ll put on a smile and try to struggle through another day when all she wants is to give up, all because she doesn't want to worry her mates. And she's my best friend. Best anyone could ever wish for. I never imagined… Wouldn't give up what we have for anything. So I've never told her. But I say goodnight and walk away… and she looks so alone. Wish I could stay and hold her. And I think, if I could somehow find the words to explain it to her, she'd understand, and not hold this against me either. I don't want anything from her - got more already than I could ever deserve - but I can't keep keeping it inside. She deserves to know.” He sighs. “‘Course, if I tried it'd all come out wrong, and she'd get the wrong end of the stick, and I'd blurt out something inane outta nerves, and she'd keep interrupting…” The car idles stationary in the middle of the street, and he drops his hands to the bottom of wheel as he turns to look at her. He searches her eyes, head tilted in that way he does that seems to let him see right inside her. His face is at war between tenderness, fear, hope, weariness, and some kind of willing surrender to incoming pain. “So what do you reckon, foxy? Should I tell her?”

Gulp. She doesn't know that she'd have words even if she could speak. She nods.

“Buffy, I love you.”

I think I love you too! she tries, and a pining little whine slips out. She shakes it away and tries for an intentional whine, something vaguely reassuring maybe, and it comes out a louder.

“Yeah?” he asks softly, looking slightly calmer. Her face must show something in response because he chuckles, “I don't speak fox, luv. But you’re not growling, and you haven't fled…” He lifts a hand from the wheel and looks like he's going to reach for her, then drops it again, looking down and shaking his head. “C’mon, Slayer. Let's sort these buggers out, then I think we'd better take you to the witches so you can unleash that tongue on me.”

 

\-------

 

On Mission Road he cruises slowly past the bus and around the corner to park out of sight. He looks at Buffy for confirmation and she nods firmly again, so he gets out and comes around to open the passenger door for her.

“Plan?” he asks.

Buffy bares a fang, then shrugs lightly.

“Ok.”

They get several metres down the footpath before she pauses and turns to look back at the convertible. Huffing out a sigh, she strides over to curbside wheel, looks him dead in the eye with an absolutely lethal expression, and cocks her rear leg in the air. As he gapes at her she widens her eyes, hurry up! So he whirls around to put his back to her and look fixedly ahead as Buffy pees on Giles’s car.

“Good plan, pet,” he tells her when she rejoins him. “Not a word, promise.”

 

\-------

 

Still trying to shake the dust of twenty vampires from her coat, Buffy follows Spike into Giles’s and sits down at the table for the second time that night.

“I've been thoroughly over this spell,” Giles informs them. “There’s nothing too badly wrong; the girls simply put too much power into it. It should peak in the wee hours, then fade quickly. You'll certainly be back to normal at sunrise, Buffy.” He checks his watch. “It's 1a.m. now. Spike, could you stay with her until it wears off, just in case she has any unforeseen trouble?”

Buffy pulls her lips back in what seems to be a rather effective sneer and points it at Giles.

Spike hurries to translate. “She's not a bloody dog, you can ask her.”

She gives Spike a short nod, Ta.

“Sorry. Of course. Buffy?”

She dips her head in acceptance of the idea, and tries to give her tail a wag at Spike. Then yawns widely. Look at me, all with the body language.

“Yes, I agree,” says Giles, “It has been a long evening. Let me know how you're feeling in the morning?”

She nods, then tries to prompt Spike with her eyes as she heads for the door. He looks quizzical, so she does her best to mime hiding her head in her hands.

“Oh, gotcha.” He turns to Giles, “Just took out twenty vamps over on Mission Rd; home of the grey vanned demon summoners. Turned out to be that kid, Warren? The one who built himself a robot girl. Anyway, he's dead. Two of his buddies were hiding in the cupboard; cops took them for questioning.” He looks at her and lifts his eyebrows, so she nods and goes to stand at the door.

Open.

 

\-------

 

At the end of Giles’s street he pauses. “I'd offer my bed, but apparently I already did that once today, and although it'd be a genuine offer this time… I don't think the bed's quite up to par any more.”

She looks embarrassed at that.

“Thank you, by the way. Looked like one hell of a fight I missed; you've still got bits in your mane. But I'll get new sheets before I go offering to loan a sleeping spot. There's still the couch upstairs if you don't want to go home though? I can crash on the chair.”

She shakes her head.

“Right.” He watches her watch him. “Not used to silent Buffy. More than a tad disconcerting, actually. Know you're about to try and say something about how I love the sound of my own voice...”

She shrugs, yep. Now go on…

“But I reckon you'll be wanting to know how the succubus came about?”

She nods, with badly feigned disinterest.

“Well. Let me tell you about the day I've had…”

 

\-------

 

She barks out a laugh, and rolls her eyes, and hackles and growls, and shakes her head, and laughs again. Oh, Spike.

They take their time wandering back to Revello, and as his tale winds down a comfortable silence falls. His fingers comes down to brush lightly against her fur again, so she moves closer to his thigh to let him rest his palm on her shoulders. It feels good there, and when he takes it away to work the lock on the back door she presses her shoulder against his leg instead.

“You eaten today?” he asks as they sneak in.

She thinks about it. Cookie. Had a cookie, she nods slightly.

“Yeah, well, not enough I'd say.” He opens the fridge and pokes around, pulling out a bag of blood for himself and a newspaper-wrapped parcel which he holds up to her questioningly. “What have you been buying at Jerry's?”

Forgot about that. She shrugs, don't know. Then points her muzzle at it, open it.

He puts it on the counter and unwraps it carefully. Inside are two large mice, sleek white-furred fat little things. “Ah,” he says, “nezumi. Fox food. You want?”

She shakes her head violently and steps back, eww, gross Spike!

“Hardly gonna judge you for it, luv.”

She shakes her head again, firmly.

“Your loss,” he shrugs, and wraps them back up again. “I'll put them at the front, case you change your mind. What else do foxes like… or what does a Buffy-fox like, rather. Fruit?” He looks in the bowl on top of the fridge. “Apple?”

Sounds… ok. She nods.

“And a bowl of cocoa?”

She nods eagerly, so he places an apple on the counter for her and starts taking out the cocoa things.

 

 

She nudges and points him to her bedroom and at the bed, where he eyes her critically then pulls out the old blanket kept folded underneath for these occasions. He spreads it to cover every inch of duvet and pillows, then pats the top for her to jump up. “There you go, pup. I'll be downstairs.”

She stops him with a shoulder barge to the back of his knees, jumps up herself and pats the bed with a paw, rolling her eyes. There you go, pig.

He goes to say something - query her further perhaps - then closes his mouth again and sits on the edge to unlace his boots. She flops her tail a couple of times, good boy. He lies down carefully on the far side of the bed, so she stands, turns in a circle, and curls up against his side. He relaxes then, and rolls over to lift an arm over her and stroke her fur gently.

“Goodnight, foxy-loxy.”

Goodnight Spikey-wikey, she tries to mock back, but of course it doesn't work. She grits her teeth and he chuckles.

“Goodnight, Buffy.”

 

A few hours later a gnawing hunger wakes her, and she ever-so-carefully slides out of bed and sneaks downstairs. He still looks sound asleep when she returns; or if he's bluffing, he's doing a very good job of it.

 

\-------

 

He blinks awake just before dawn, holding himself perfectly still so as not to wake his armful of sleeping (human-shaped) slayer. After her less-than-sneaky post-midnight snack she'd cuddled right in, lying her muzzle on his chest with a soft sigh of contentment. Mouse-breath. Better not mention it though.

Things are bound to be different in the daylight though; easy to hide in costume and play at something during a night of charade. So he watches her chest move with soft breaths that tickle warmly through his tshirt, and he sorts through the layered scents of mouse and succubi and dust and magically-enhanced fox to find that golden note of Buffy that tastes like honey, and savours this.

She begins to stir, and he can't help grasping on for a second before he gently lifts his arm off her. She comes fully awake then, and startles at her restored human-ness to sit upright.

“Hey! I'm me-shaped!” She points at herself in excitement. “And I can talk!”

“That’s wonderful, luv,” he smiles, a hint of sadness slipping in as he waits for her to retreat, and considers trying to retract. What the hell was I thinking; she's still trying to adjust to being back here, shouldn't have put this on her.

 

Silence.

 

…

 

She fiddles with the edge of the blanket, looking down.

“Can talk too,” he says quietly, “don’t mean I know what to say.” He sighs and stands up. “Shall I put the kettle on?”

“Spike wait--” she stops him on the way to the door, then looks down nervously again. “I said that last night,” she chuckles, “at Willy's.”

He smiles back, “And then you said, ‘damnit, Spike!’ and flounced after me. It's alright, Slayer, don't have to say anything. Let's just have coffee, yeah?”

“No, wait…”

He feels like he's pinned down on a vivisection table, with her about to slice into the mochaccino holding his heart.

“I wanted… last night. I wanted to say… IthinkIloveyoutoo. Please don't leave?”

There's the scalpel, just not in the shape he expected. Oh, luv.

He crosses back to her and holds his arms out, and she buries herself in his chest with a sniff. “I'm not going anywhere, promise. Couldn’t get rid a me if you tried. We're friends, aren't we? ‘Fore anything else.”

She nods and mumbles into his shirt, “I don’t want to lose that either. But I want you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, trying to will down the erection that's just doubled with her last three words. “Come on, pet. Let's start with coffee. It's been a long night.”

 

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

The end.

Special credit to Richard O’Brien for a fabulous line ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Too busy snickering to decide? Please let me know in the comments :)


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